The Artist and the Rake Page 4
Unable to sit still while she spoke out loud for the first time where her thoughts had led her, she stood and walked around the settee as she continued. Of course, being a gentleman, Mr. Mallory stood as well.
She looked over at him and stared him straight in the eye. “I have never stolen anything in my life.”
She continued her stroll around the settee. “My landlady, Mrs. O’Leary was lurking about outside the hat factory where I worked as I left that day. She seemed so sweet and caring and what I had seen as a godsend at the time was, I believe, the beginning of my ordeal.”
Lizbeth began to feel silly with Mr. Mallory standing and her meandering around the settee. Perhaps if they did have tea, or brandy for Mr. Mallory, she would be able to sit still.
“Mr. Mallory may I offer you some brandy? I think I will send for tea for myself.”
“Yes. But first I have a request.”
Lizbeth walked to the brocade bell pull to ring for tea. “What is that?”
“Please call me Marcus. When someone addresses me as Mr. Mallory, I always feel the need to turn to see if my father is standing behind me.”
Lizbeth laughed. Something she hadn’t done in a long while. Indeed, Mr. Mallory—Marcus—did put her at ease. Providing he kept his distance. “Yes, I understand. Then you have my permission to call me Lizbeth.”
Grossman arrived at the door to the drawing room. “You rang, Miss Davenport?”
“Yes. Please have tea brought in.” She turned and looked at Marcus who was now leaning against the fireplace mantel, his arms crossed. He looked like a man who would always welcome food. “And some sandwiches, as well,” she added.
For the first time since she’d been taken from her room at the boarding house, she felt as though she could speak of her nightmare to someone. As much as she loved Pamela, it would have no doubt upset her greatly to hear the entire tale of what she’d gone through.
Marcus looked like the sort of person who could listen and keep her from crying while she told the story. He certainly had broad enough shoulders. His chiseled, handsome features spoke of strength, and his whiskey-colored eyes viewed her with sympathy and understanding, not pity.
His fine clothing and a bit-too-long wavy brown hair looked very much like some of the men she’d encountered at the brothel, but something good and kind was in those eyes that set him apart from the others.
“Please feel free to help yourself to a brandy.” She nodded toward the sideboard. “I have quite a bit to say.”
Chapter 4
Lizbeth and Marcus spoke of other, inane things while he sipped his brandy, and she awaited the tea.
She was still confused by this man. Although he was working on a Parliamentary bill about forced prostitution, why he involved himself in rescuing her was where the puzzle started. Once her release had been completed, most men would have bowed politely and then moved on to other things in their life. But not Marcus. He offered to ask his sister to provide housing for her.
Now he was here, not just delivering the missive from his sister, but asking about her ordeal. Where once she’d been a very trusting person—which was why she accepted Mrs. O’Leary’s offer of a room—she now examined everyone and every comment with an eye toward deception.
What, exactly, was Marcus intending to get out of this? Was it a titillation for him to hear her story, or did he need to add more information to help persuade the House of Commons to pass his bill? Did he think because she’d been ruined that she would make him a fine mistress?
Once the tea tray was carried in by the footman, she fixed a cup to her liking, and offered Marcus a plate of sandwiches.
She took a sip of the soothing beverage and placed the cup carefully in the saucer. “I should probably backtrack a bit on how I came to be in Bath. I was born and raised in a small town in Somerset where I lived with my parents and two brothers. Both younger than me.”
She rubbed her arm, the sad part of the story still upset her. “Four years ago, Papa came home from his office one day and said he didn’t feel well.” She stopped and looked at Marcus. “Influenza.”
Marcus winced.
“Yes. Within three weeks the entire family—except me—was dead.”
Marcus sucked in a deep breath. “I am so sorry.”
Lizbeth took in a shuddering breath and continued. “Yes. Well, I thought that was the worst thing that could ever happen to me, being left alone in the world, since the only other family I have is in America. But I was wrong. I sold my Papa’s house and used the funds to move to Bath. After living on my own for those four years, barely making ends meet, I was—as I told you before—fired for stealing a brooch.”
“And that is when your landlady spoke with you outside your employment?”
Lizbeth nodded. “I thought at the time that it was fortunate for me that she was in the right place at the right time. She offered me the use of one of the rooms in her boarding house for free.”
Marcus placed his now empty glass on the table next to him. “Let me guess. You’ve come to believe she was purposely awaiting you outside the hat factory.”
“Indeed, she was,” she snapped. Her lips tightened. “There is no doubt in my mind. Since then I have given the entire matter a great deal of thought, and it is my opinion that Mrs. O’Leary and the hat factory were somehow working together. I believe she either planned to have me fired or was notified somehow that I would be let go.
“It would have been an easy thing to slip that brooch into my reticule, knowing I would be searched on the way out. The plan was I get searched, the brooch is discovered, I am fired, and a good Samaritan,” she snorted, “awaits outside the building to offer my deliverance. A most simple strategy.”
Marcus leaned back and stretched out his long legs. “When I was doing research for my presentation to Parliament, I focused on London. I knew there was a group who imported women from outside the city but didn’t know from where. I assumed it was from another country. It never occurred to me it was from Bath.”
Lizbeth leaned forward. “I believe there is a group in Bath, and that Mrs. O’Leary is one of the suppliers. For all I know, she might even be the ringleader. I remember Pamela telling me that the room I occupied in the boarding house had lost quite a few tenants during the three years she lived there.”
He straightened and leaned forward, the interest in his eyes. “So, you’re saying that room is where these young ladies came from?”
“Oh, yes. And I plan to prove it.” She raised her chin, all the anger deep inside of her churning, almost making her sick to her stomach.
He shook his head. “Wait a minute, you can’t get involved in something like this. It’s far too dangerous.”
“I am already involved in this,” she said. “My world has been shattered. I will never again be the same woman I was when I entered that boarding house for the first time.” She took a sip of tea, her hand shaking.
She looked up to see Marcus staring at her. “What?”
“You have no idea what you are getting yourself into,” he said softly.
Lizbeth hopped up, splashing tea on her dress. “No, Mr. Parliament with your blasted bill. You have no idea what you are getting into. You think because you walk the halls of government, waving papers around and stopping men in fancy clubs and balls to ask for votes that you are an expert on this?”
She stabbed herself in the chest with her finger. “I am the expert. I was the one duped into taking a room where I was made to feel grateful and safe, all the while my abduction and later sale to a brothel had already been planned. Bloody hell, not planned, but set up.” She swiped at her cheeks when she realized she was crying.
“I will not rest until Mrs. O’Leary and whoever it is working with her are dead,” she shouted. The words reverberated off the walls, shocking even her in their fury. She held her arm up, palm facing out when Marcus reached for her. She couldn’t stand the thought of anyone—especially a man—touching her. “No. Don’t.”
Marcus nodded. “I understand. Please sit, Lizbeth. Drink your tea.” He handed her a handkerchief and returned to his seat.
She smirked. “That is always the solution for a distraught woman, is it not? Sit still, behave yourself, and drink your tea. If you think I am going to apologize for my outburst and language, you have quite a wait on your hands.” She pressed the handkerchief to her mouth. “Do you know how awful it is to be totally helpless? To be forced to do something so repulsive you would rather kill yourself? But there is no weapon nearby, no one to help you, no one who cares that you are appalled?”
Marcus closed his eyes briefly and was obviously trying to get himself under control. “No. I must say I have never been in a position like that. But listen to me. We will visit with the police and tell them your story. Let them handle it. That is what they are trained to do.”
Lizbeth snorted and took another sip of tea. “I guess it’s worth a try, but I have discovered over the last few years to depend on myself and no one else.”
“Would you allow me to help you?”
She narrowed her eyes. There it was. Another puzzle piece. “Why would you do that? Am I to be your latest project in Parliament? Will you name a bill after me?”
Despite the way she’d spoken to him, and instead of heading for the door, the fool man got up from his seat and sat alongside her. She moved over. He did not. “Listen to me, Lizbeth. I was involved from the time Mr. Smith asked for my help. I gladly assisted in your rescue. I feel a certain responsibility for you—"
“—You can stop right there. No one is responsible for me, except me.”
He nodded. “All right. I can accept that. For now.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Whatever did he mean by for now? Another piece to add to the puzzle? The thought returned that the man might have designs on her. Perhaps he did think because she spent time in a bawdy house that she was now free with her favors. After all, Pamela had told her that in the upper crust circles Mr. Marcus Mallory was a known rake.
Except in all honesty she hadn’t seen that part of him at all. Yet. Just as Mrs. O’Leary showed the sweet and kind side of herself when they’d first met.
He continued. “But what I said stands. I want to help you, if for no other reason than to keep you safe.”
She shook her head. “I will never feel safe again,” she whispered.
“I can’t even imagine how you feel right now but know this. I will do everything in my power to help you bring these people to justice and make sure you one day feel safe again.”
“Why? Why would you do this?”
He studied her, his eyes boring into her, causing her heart to pound. “Because I care.”
Chapter 5
Because I care.
His words sat between them. A promise, a determination to do the right thing. He didn’t mean to speak them out loud. Not yet, anyway. This beautiful, very sad, very angry woman had touched something deep inside him. She was broken, and he wanted to help put her back together again.
“Might I suggest we go to the police station soon? I had hoped we could leave for my sister’s house tomorrow.”
“We can go now.” Lizbeth stood and shook out her skirts. “As I’ve said before, I want to leave this blasted city as quickly as possible.”
* * *
The next morning Lady Pamela arrived at Mallory Townhouse in the Montrose carriage, along with a footman and Lizbeth. She would see them off and then return to prepare for her trip back to Bath with Nick.
Nick had confided in him that once the matter of rescuing Lizbeth from the brothel had been finished, he intended to propose to Lady Pamela. Marcus was quite happy for him. Lady Pamela was a sweet woman and Nick Smith was the right man to take care of her.
Very much like the idea of him taking care of Lizbeth was beginning to form in his mind. Aside from the physical draw he felt toward her, she was intelligent, strong and determined. Although, given her current frame of mind, it might take a long time before she would accept him if that was where his feelings led him.
“Please t-try your b-best to p-put all of this b-behind you.” Lady Pamela hugged Lizbeth as they were getting ready to board the train.
“I will,” Lizbeth said. Then she turned and took Marcus’s hand to help her up the steps. She quickly withdrew her hand once she entered the train.
They settled next to each other, although Lizbeth tried her best to hug the window so as not to touch him. He honored her unspoken request and kept his distance.
As the train began its journey from London to Bath, Lizbeth turned to him. “Tell me about your sister. From what Pamela said, Lady Berkshire, Pamela and Lottie have been close friends for a couple of years.”
Grateful to have something to talk about that might distract Lizbeth from her ordeal, he said, “My sister had been Adeline all the years of her life until she rejected all things ton and coerced my parents into releasing her dowry so she could move to Bath and buy a bookstore. There she became a successful business owner, shortened her name to Addie, and eventually met and married Lord Berkshire.”
“Oh, my. Whatever made her decide to do all that? Isn’t that somewhat unusual in your world?”
He nodded. “She’d been miserable in the social whirl that is called the marriage mart. Her problem had been no more than a bit of clumsiness, and possibly a bit more weight than most girls. That had led to her shyness and then being singled out by some of the less charming young ladies as a target for ridicule.”
“That’s terrible. Why would they do that?”
Marcus shifted in his seat so he could look directly at her. And what a sight it was. Today Lizbeth wore a blue and white striped dress under a royal blue wool cloak with a matching hat that brought out the deep blue of her eyes. He imagined the clothing had been either lent to her by Pamela, or hurriedly purchased.
Her hairdo had been softened since the night they picked her up from the brothel, no longer slicked back, but soft waves around her face with the hair caught into a chignon at the back of her neck.
He brought himself back to the conversation and answered her question. “I’ve found that some women with their sweet smiles, downcast eyes, and delicate demeanors could be downright vicious to those they deemed not favorable.”
“And your sister was not considered favorable?”
Marcus shrugged. “No. We attended a ball together and I watched her misery from afar. When I returned home that evening, I threw in my support for her idea of buying a bookstore.”
“You’re a good brother.” She smiled, warming his heart.
After several minutes of silence, Lizbeth said, “I have never been an I told you so person, but I will allow myself the indulgence of saying it now. I was not surprised that the Metropolitan Police did not scurry from their station and immediately arrest the people at the Naughty Nest when we visited with them yesterday.”
Marcus nodded. “Unfortunately, I agree. They weren’t very helpful, but they did say they’ve been watching the place for a while. You have added to their information they hope to use one day to close it down and arrest the owner, managers, and suppliers. Remember, the police have rules they have to follow.”
Lizbeth scowled at him and turned to look out the window at the passing scenery. Thinking she was finished with the conversation, he was surprised when she added, “They may do what they want in London, but I intend to deal with the culprits in Bath.”
Her words raised an alarm. He didn’t like what she said or how she said it “Now, Lizbeth, the Metropolitan Police told you they would contact the authorities in Bath, and they would, in turn, contact you.”
“And you believe that?” She looked over her shoulder at him and smirked.
After a few moments, he smiled softly. “No.”
“As I said before. You are a smart man.”
The rest of the ride was quiet with them commenting on Bath compared to London, the Queen’s birthday, the weather, and the condition o
f the roads. All innocuous subjects that most Englishmen were adept at discussing.
There was a great deal more that Marcus wanted to speak with Lizbeth about, but allowing for the trauma she’d just gone through, he thought it better to give her a couple days to settle in at Addie’s house first. He only hoped Lizbeth would not do anything foolish and find herself back in trouble again.
He shook his head as the train pulled into Bath Spa Station and the passengers all began to gather their belongings. Able to take care of herself, indeed. If ever there was a woman who needed taking care of, it was Miss Lizbeth Davenport.
* * *
Lizbeth had to admit she was wrought with nerves as the hackney pulled up in front of the Berkshire residence. It was easy for Pamela and Marcus to assure her that Lady Berkshire would welcome her with open arms. But now that Lizbeth’s new sense of suspecting everyone’s good deeds had settled firmly into her mind, she wondered what this woman would gain from this.
It troubled her that she had become so jaded and cynical. But on the other hand, she would never allow herself to be fooled again.
A footman opened the door of the carriage and stepped back. Marcus exited first, then turned to take her hand. She would have preferred to climb out herself, but with the awkwardness of her skirts, that was impossible. All she would accomplish was probably tumbling to the ground. At least both she and Marcus were wearing gloves, so she needn’t feel his skin.
They barely made it to the top step when the front door opened, and a man stepped out. “Good afternoon, Mr. Mallory.”
“Good afternoon, Penrose.” Marcus brought Lizbeth forward. “This is Miss Davenport, who is to be a guest of Lord and Lady Berkshire.”
“Welcome, Miss Davenport,” the butler said. He then turned to Marcus. “Her ladyship is in the drawing room.”
Marcus took Lizbeth’s elbow and escorted her upstairs to the first floor. The spasms of panic in her middle increased the closer they got to the door at the end of the corridor where she could hear conversation.